After the departure of Captain Smith the colony went back to its old
habits of laziness and mutiny. In August four of the nine vessels
sent out from England arrived with the dreaded plague on board. Then
did death outstrip the Indian. Fever-stricken victims by the hundred
lay dead and dying, and the bodies of the dead were dug up and eaten
by the starving.
Captain George Percy, ill and feeble, tried vainly to stem the rising
tide of disaster, but no mortal hand could prevent the Starving Time
setting its fangs in the bodies of the remaining colonists. When the
wrecked voyagers who had been on the ill-fated _Sea Venture_ arrived
from the island of Bermuda there were only sixty gaunt, wild-eyed
settlers to greet them. Among these living skeletons were George
Percy, John Laydon, his wife Anne, and Adam Clotworthy.
Desolation and death, famine and plague! No heart was courageous
enough to brave them.
“Home! Take us home from this place of pestilence,” begged the
stricken ones. “Not one happy day have we ever enjoyed here.”
Brave Admiral Somers listened to their pleadings. Jamestown was to
be abandoned to its savage owners again. Not a tear was shed as they
sailed away from the ruinous settlement.
“Home to England, where I can see again the brimming cups of sack and
haunch of roasted beef,” came in a low whisper from the emaciated
Adam, lying upon the deck of the _Patience_. “John, do you think I
will ever live to get there?”
They had proceeded but a few miles down the James when they were met
by a boat rowed at full speed.
“Stop, turn back! Lord De La Warre, Governor of Jamestown, is lying
at Point Comfort, and commands your return,” cried Captain Brewster.
“He has full store of provisions and all things needful.”
Reader, have you ever passed through some ordeal that racked the body
and unbalanced the mind until it was like a loosened rock clinging to
the side of a toppling crag? Have you ever been delivered from this
ghastly position, only to find yourself plunged into the blackness
of some unfathomable abyss? Then you can understand the feelings
of these miserable wretches on this June day in the year 1610. They
were forced to return to Jamestown, for military law ruled and a life
could be easily taken.
Back to the dismantled fort, to rotting cabins and filthy streets,
they sorrowfully went. The cannon were dug up from near the gate of
the palisade and some preparation hastily made for the reception of
the Governor, who arrived on Sunday.
Under his strict though kindly rule they repaired the cabins, built
more, and refurnished the church with cedar pews, ebony altar, and
font. The streets were cleaned, the gardens cleared, and comfort
reigned once more. Sunshine again shone out among the fast fleeting
clouds, but a small cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, still hung
low down on the horizon.
The untiring efforts of the Governor received a sudden check.
Sickness racked his frame—sickness that would not loose its hold.
Back to England went Lord De La Warre, leaving George Percy again in
charge.
Up rose the small cloud on the horizon with lightning speed, and
swelled in volume as it came. Anarchy, mutiny, murder by the savages
once more held full sway. Then came Captain Argall, a second
Ratcliffe, and added to the trouble. After a year of mutiny under his
governorship, Governor Dale arrived to take the helm of state.
The storm was over. Its last rugged edges were swept away under the
rigid rule of this stern old Governor. Each day he presided over the
court to mete out punishment for the infraction of his laws.
“This man, your excellency, was caught railing against your
commands,” said a soldier who did police duty.
“Take him to the smithy and bore a hole in his tongue. That will
silence him for a while,” ordered the Governor.
“Charles Anderson says he is not religiously inclined and refuses to
go to church, your worship.”
“Bread and water and daily whipping until he is in a proper frame of
mind,” ordered the Governor.
“Say, John,” said Adam Clotworthy, meeting Laydon on the street,
“things begin to wear as fair a look as they do in old England.
Yesterday I was over to Master John Rolfe’s plantation at Varina. He
has started to grow tobacco on a large scale. I wouldn’t be surprised
if it does not become our staple commodity, now that Governor Dale
has abolished the common storehouse and given every man a house and
land that he can call his own.”
“He has solved the problem of the settlement of Jamestown,” said
Laydon. “Even those who were the ringleaders in mutiny have settled
down into sober and industrious farmers. Give a man some object
in life and the good will surely come uppermost. You know James
Hutchinson, the wildest rake in the colony? I came by his bit of
land just now and saw him weeding his cotton patch. Well, I must be
moving. I have to hill up my corn. I hope to get at least fifty good
bushels this year.”